


for good

by novoaa1



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Light Angst, POV Natasha Romanov, Protective Carol Danvers, Soft Girlfriends, They argue, and then they get soft again and its cute, but then it gets real soft real fast, is the title a reference to wicked?, just a drabble idk, natasha sucking at feelings, possibly, very possibly, very very light
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 22:42:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19238575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novoaa1/pseuds/novoaa1
Summary: Natasha's pissed because Carol photon-blasted one of her ex-Red Room handlers completely unprovoked while on a mission.They talk about it.





	for good

**Author's Note:**

> random idea... wrote this on a red eye plane flight and I'm absolutely cracKed and haven't slept in like28 hours so uhhhh i hope this doesn't suck but
> 
> good night and hope u enjoy:)

“What’s your problem?” Natasha questions sharply as soon as the door shuts behind them, not bothering to keep the dangerous edge from her tone. 

 

Carol shrugs, looking by all accounts far too unapologetic for Natasha’s liking in her brown leather flight jacket and star-spangled uniform, not a single hair out of place—meanwhile, Natasha remains in her tight combat suit, streaked with soot and blood (most of which isn't hers, of course). “Don’t have one.”

 

Natasha crosses her arms defiantly against her chest. “You singlehandedly sabotaged the mission—“

 

“He was an asshole.”

 

Natasha lets out a frustrated huff of breath at that. “Danvers, you can’t go around blasting all the assholes you see.”

 

Carol sets her jaw, clearly determined. “I will when they hurt _you_.”

 

Silence permeates the room, then, and Natasha isn’t sure whether to hit her or run. 

 

In the end she decides on neither, because that’s not who she is anymore—well, at least, that’s not who she’s _trying_ to be anymore, and she’s nothing if not impossible to deter when she sets her sights on something. 

 

“That was a long time ago,” is what she settles on instead, quiet and firm—though by the self-righteous glower marring Carol’s features, they’re far from done here.

 

As something of an afterthought, Natasha regrets deigning to have this particular conversation in her seldom-used New York apartment just down the road from Avengers Tower—but, she supposes, it’s better than duking it out in the common areas at the Tower under FRIDAY’s (and by extension, Tony’s) meticulous supervision. 

 

“What does it matter? He _hurt_ you, Nat,” Carol protests, indignant as ever, and Natasha feels something soften in her chest despite herself. 

 

(This part is new—the whole ‘maybe-kind-of-sort-of-dating’ part.

 

Natasha had never done ‘dating’… though, she supposed she isn’t surprised it was Carol who managed to change that, because Carol Danvers is witty and lighthearted and _funny_ , not to mention easy on the eyes, because Natasha may be weary and jaded but she most certainly isn’t blind.

 

But still, it’s not easy—the farthest thing from it, actually. 

 

Carol Danvers doesn’t do things in halves: not drinking, not promises, not relationships. For her, it’s either all or nothing—higher, further, faster, and the like.

 

And it certainly makes for an interesting juxtaposition, because Natasha is the polar opposite: never putting her eggs all in one basket, never placing everything she has in something she can’t trust, never trusting anything because there’s nothing in this world that’s ever been inherently trustworthy to begin with… including herself. 

 

She used to think people like Carol were foolhardy, that they were about one mishap away from a horrific reality check that would render them more broken than ever before, all because their stubbornly enduring optimism set them up for the inevitable: failure. 

 

And honestly, she still believes that. 

 

But, sometimes, it’s hard, like when she’s lying down at night wrapped tightly in Carol’s arms and the nightmares don’t dare creep in because she feels as close to safe as she’s ever been, or when Carol smiles at her like she doesn’t care about the rivulets of blood staining Natasha’s ledger and all the people she’s killed and it makes a terrifying sort of warmth curl deep in her chest where she doesn’t have the slightest chance of carving it out. 

 

She’s changing; what’s more, she can feel it happening, and she doesn’t quite know yet if it’s for the better—it’s just about the scariest thing she’s ever known.)

 

“The mission has to come first,” she counters, though at this point, she’s not quite sure whom she’s trying to persuade—Carol, or herself. 

 

Carol rolls her eyes, and white-hot anger flares in Natasha’s chest along with a maddening pang of affection at her ever-enduring (not to mention _infuriating_ ) 'I don’t like to follow the rules' prerogative. 

 

“Who cares about the _mission_ when the man who’s responsible for so much of your pain is still living and breathing and taunting you like he owns you?” Natasha opens her mouth to speak then, but Carol is quick to stop her: “Because, I don’t.”

 

“Is that what this is about? You asserting your claim on me, all because you think he still ‘owns’ me?” she asks coldly in response, making air quotes—it’s a low blow and she knows it, can see the warning look in Carol’s coffee-bean brown irises that silently pleads with her to stop, but she always knew she’d ruin this (whatever _this_ was) at one point or another; why not now?

 

“Don’t,” Carol growls, low and uncompromising—Natasha will never admit it, but the sound of it sends chills down her spine, even if the impeccably constructed mask of disinterest remains perfectly intact upon her features.

 

Natasha quirks a brow, unwilling to concede. “Am I wrong?”

 

Carol clenches her jaw, nostrils flaring. “Yes, you are.”

 

“I very much doubt that.”

 

“Why?” Carol questions angrily, fire in her words as she steps closer and closer towards Natasha until the two of them are just centimeters apart. "Because I blasted him? Because I hated seeing him lord over you like he had any right to do that? Because I _care?_ "

 

Natasha quiets at that, a million thoughts racing through her scattered brain. 

 

“Do you mean that?” she asks eventually, allowing an incredibly rare sort of vulnerability and uncertainty to seep into her muted tone.

 

Carol rolls her eyes again like Natasha has just asked the dumbest question in the entire galaxy, and Natasha fights against the reflexive anger flaring in her chest at that. 

 

“ _Yes_ , I mean it, Tash,” Carol breathes out in a rush, suddenly sounding rather exhausted.

 

Natasha contemplates this for a minute, silent and unmoving—after a moment, she speaks: 

 

“You still ruined my mission.” It’s not quite a surrender, but it’s damn close—there’s a note of something kinder underlying her words, her lips twitching into a lopsided smirk that ( _thankfully_ ) Carol instantly returns with a blinding smile of her own.

 

(And suddenly, things feel… different, somehow. _Good_ different.

 

 _Safe_.)

 

“I’m sorry,” Carol mumbles, already coming closer to wrap a willing Natasha tightly against her chest. 

 

Natasha just hums, relishing in the warmth of Carol’s embrace before murmuring, “No, you’re not,” the indignant statement muffled by the worn old leather of Carol’s jacket, smelling faintly of cinnamon and smoke. 

 

She hears Carol chuckle above her at that, and the sound reverberates throughout Natasha’s entire body in such a way that both terrifies and enthralls her like nothing else before—she’s sure if she believed in something like security, like _home_ , that this would be it. 

 

She doesn’t, though; she never has. 

 

(She doesn’t quite want to admit—not yet, at least—that Carol Danvers might just be the one who changes that. For good.)

 

— —

**Author's Note:**

> feedback as always would be awesome <3 :)
> 
> also here’s the link to my 


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